One Chance

by Best, Victoria J.

  “Okay, let’s hear it.” My voice sounded strange, husky, though I was trying to sound neutral.

  “Mother has insisted that, as a penance for going to rehab, I must work on her foundation’s fundraiser benefit. But, if I’m being honest, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. She said she would help, but I think what she means is that she will assign one of her many assistants to breathe down my neck. I told her I’d find my own help. Since she likes you so much, I think she’ll agree to let you help . . . if you wanted to.” He ended the with the most disarming smile I had ever seen, and for a moment I wasn’t even sure how to answer the question.

  “Uh, I–I don’t know. I’m awfully busy here. When is the benefit?” I needed an excuse to get out of it, anything to avoid spending extra time with Henry that would make me crack.

  “It’s not until the end of July or the beginning of August. We haven’t nailed down a date yet.”

  I pretended to think, but what I was really doing was trying to stall. “Okay, um, can I let you know tomorrow? I want to check with Rebecca about my upcoming meetings and everything, and what I have coming up for spring. Since the spring line will be out in time for Fashion Week, I may not have that much availability.”

  I was fumbling, trying to find anything to get out of saying yes. But I just knew, in my heart, that I would probably agree to do it. How could I say no to Henry?

  Especially since his mother’s foundation was for children who had lost parents.

  “Take your time,” he said, relaxing back against the chair as I sweated through my dress shirt.

  I wanted to him leave, but I didn’t want him to leave.

  “Are you going to wait around and stare at me while I think?” I asked with a little more snark than I’d meant.

  Henry chuckled, sat up, and ran a hand through his hair. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me before I head back to work.”

  “Oh, uh, I have a meeting at one,” I fibbed, deliberately looking down at the calendar on my desk.

  “Really? Rebecca said you were free all afternoon.” A sly smile spread across his lips. I wanted to smack it away. Or maybe kiss it away.

  My thoughts were all over the place and it was fucking with my head.

  “I’m actually not really feeling well,” I told him honestly because the pounding in my head intensified the more I tried to ignore the way I felt about him.

  His smile faded, worry creasing his eyes. “What’s wrong?” He jumped up from his seat and rushed to my side, so close I could smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body.

  That was contrary to what I was trying to do.

  “Henry, I’m fine. Really. It’s just a headache,” I said, looking up at him as he towered over me.

  “Are you sure?” Concern lined his face. I suddenly felt bad for using my headache to get out of lunch with him.

  “Yes. You know what? I may actually just be hungry. Maybe we should have lunch.” I was trying to change the subject because the last thing I wanted was to admit that I had been suffering from a headache for the last three days.

  “Really? Okay. There’s a deli down the block that’s pretty good.” He was still standing over me, his thigh pressed against my knee. The contact made it difficult to think.

  “Sounds good,” I mumbled, scooting the chair away from him to grab my purse from the desk drawer.

  To put some space between us.

  I stood up and froze because I was trapped between him and the desk. A slight smirk lit his face.

  “Are you doing this on purpose?” I asked, unable to keep the smile from my lips.

  He shrugged. “Maybe.” But he moved back so I could squeeze past him, but barely.

  I snagged my coat from the hook near the door, shrugged into it, and tossed my purse over my shoulder. Henry stepped back, holding the door open for me to step through. Most of the office was out for lunch, and we weren’t stopped on our way out of the building. By the time we made our way down the block to the deli, the Tylenol had kicked in and the pain in my head had lessened to a dull ache.

  The deli was packed with people lining the counter, filling the tables, and waiting against the wall for their orders.

  “Should we go somewhere else?” Henry asked, stepping back to wait for my reaction.

  “Uh, no.” I paused and looked around. “Look! A table just opened over there. Quick!” I said, pointing towards a two-seater table in the back corner.

  Henry ran for it, pushing through people. They shot nasty looks at his back, but he didn’t stop. I laughed as I watched him, following behind slowly. When I reached the table, he was seated and panting.

  “I got it,” he said between gulps of air.

  “You sure did.” I laughed louder, settling into the seat across from him. “But there’s only one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We still have to get through the line,” I said, pointing towards the line that snaked out to the sidewalk.

  Henry shook his head. “No problem. What do you want?”

  I decided on half a club sandwich and tomato soup. Henry got up from the table, saluted me dramatically, and headed towards the line. I watched him go to the end of the line, stop and wave at me. He didn’t stay there very long. I watched in amazement as he leaned in, speaking to people in the line, occasionally pointing to me, as he moved up in front of one person at a time. Within two minutes, he was at the front of the line, ordering our lunch.

  After he placed the order, he sauntered over to me, a smug smile on his face.

  “What did you say to them?” I asked as he stood in front of me, hands on his hips.

  Henry leaned in. “I told them my pregnant wife needed her lunch,” he whispered, raising his eyebrows.

  “What!” I jumped up from the seat, almost knocking it over.

  Henry laughed so loud that people were beginning to stare.

  “Why would you tell them that?” I hissed at him as I pulled the chair back up to the table to sit down.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t want to wait an hour for lunch.” Winking at me, he walked away towards the pick-up line.

  I stared after him in disbelief. Henry could sell water to a fish.

  Less than five minutes later, he came back with a tray full of our food.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, suddenly serious, as he set the food down in front of me, pulling up his own seat.

  “I’m fine. My headache has dulled a bit. And I’m starving.” I grabbed the plate with my sandwich, followed by the cup of soup and began to dig in.

  “Wow, you really are hungry,” Henry said, watching me curiously.

  I gave him the finger. “Whatever. Thanks for getting the food so quickly.”

  “It’s the least I could do.” He shrugged, then took a large bite of his own sandwich.

  As I shoveled spoonsful of soup into my mouth, it occurred to me that Henry had managed to distract me from the awkwardness that had been surrounding us in my office. Not only had he ordered our food in record time, but he’d set me at ease enough so I was actually enjoying lunch with him instead of worrying.

  “Okay, I’ll help you with the benefit,” I heard myself say around a mouthful of my club sandwich.

  “Thanks! If I knew getting some food in you was all it would take to get you to agree to help me, I’d have brought lunch with me.” He took out his phone, tapping away on the screen for a moment before setting it down and looking at me with a triumphant smile.

  “What were you doing?” I asked.

  “Making a note in my phone,” he said as he took another bite of his sandwich.

  “A note about what?”

  He winked at me. “You and food, and how to use it to get my way.”

  I slapped him on the arm. “Jerk,” I said, trying to look angry but unable to stop the giggle that escaped.

  We finished eating, chatting a little about his new job and the projects we were both working on. My headac
he had all but disappeared, and I chalked it up to extreme hunger and stress. Twenty minutes later, we stood and dumped our trash in the trash can, then walked back to the fashion house.

  “Thanks again, Nic,” Henry said as we stopped in front of the building.

  “You’re welcome. Just send me all the details.”

  He nodded. “And thanks for having lunch with me.”

  “No, thank you for that. I’m pretty sure I’d still be cooped up in my office with a headache if you hadn’t taken me to lunch.”

  “Well then, I’m glad to have been of service.” He bowed.

  When he stood up, he had moved closer, his face inches from mine and his body heat surrounding me in the cold winter afternoon.

  “Henry,” I whispered his name, afraid to move even an inch.

  I thought he was going to kiss me—I wanted him to kiss me—but instead he wrapped me in a tight hug, my body flush against his. Emotions I couldn’t identify enveloped me, taking my breath away. I wanted to speak, to say something to let him know what I was feeling, but that wasn’t a good idea. Instead, I hugged him back, my body tingling against his.

  We stood that way for what felt like a long time but was probably only a minute or two before he pulled away.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said, waving at me as he backed away.

  “Bye,” I called, but I didn’t think he heard me. He was already too far away by the time I was able to speak.

  Chapter 28

  Henry

  The week dragged on as I waited impatiently for Friday, though weekends meant something different to me now that I wasn’t drinking. My new job was time-consuming enough to keep me busy during the day, but every night when I was home alone, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of Nicolette. I texted her on Wednesday night, unable to stop myself from pulling her name up and typing a message.

  Me: Are you free this weekend?

  She took a long time to text me back, or maybe it was only a minute, but it seemed unending as the little bubbles disappeared and reappeared at the bottom of the screen.

  Nicolette: It depends on what you have in mind. Are we going to skip through another food line? Or work on the benefit?

  Her response made me laugh out loud.

  Me: I was thinking both. How’s that sound?

  Nicolette: Let me check my calendar. I should be able to help. My dad is expecting me for lunch on Saturday because I skipped out on him last weekend.

  Me: Okay. I’ll set it up for Sunday. We can meet at the deli, con our way into lunch, and then get started ;)

  The bubbles popped up again, and I waited for her response, my stomach in knots.

  Nicolette: Haha! How about I meet you at your apartment at noon?

  Me: Sure. See you then.

  I sat there for a moment, smiling at my phone like a fool. There had never been a time in my life that I was this happy to see a woman. Shaking my head, I stood up and went to my room to change, so I could go for a run.

  * * *

  After I’d come home from rehab, I threw out every bottle of alcohol in my apartment. I wanted a fresh start, a new beginning without the temptation to drink when I was alone. I was doing well—two weeks out and I didn’t want to drink—but as I sat in my mother’s “sitting room,” my eyes kept wandering to the bar cart in the corner. Not because I wanted a drink, but because I’d never noticed before how stocked it was. Though, knowing my mother, maybe she’d stocked it up to test me. I didn’t put it past her.

  “What did you want to talk to me about, Henry? I have a brunch in about an hour,” Mother looked at her nails as she spoke to me, frowning down at her fingers.

  I sighed. Talking to my mother about anything was like getting a root canal sometimes. “It’s about the benefit. Nicolette has agreed to help me. I don’t need Angela or anyone else to assist.”

  Mother looked up at me, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “Really? Are you sure? This is a lot to handle for you right out of . . .” She let her sentence trail off, waving her hand in the air. “I wouldn’t want you to relapse.”

  My brows furrowed as I watched her. She said it almost as if she did hope I’d relapse. I would never understand my mother. “I’ll be fine.” I gestured with my hand. “But there are a few things I’ll need from you. A printout of your guest list, the person you want to speak, and anything else special that you feel like we should address. Since this is your second event in six months, I think it’s important to address the donors specifically about why the foundation needs more money. We know that it’s for the college funds we’ve set up for the children, but I think making the donors feel like they are part of something special and exclusive would make them more willing to participate.”

  Her eyes snapped to meet mine again, the skepticism I’d seen there moments before replaced with something else. I wanted to believe it was respect, but I knew my mother better than that.

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll have Angela send you everything you need, including a draft of what you should send out to our usual donors. Maybe with your suggestion we will snag a few more.” A small, genuine smile graced her usually pinched face for a moment, and a glimmer of the mother I’d remembered from when I was a small boy came flooding back. She used to smile easier then. Before the business was solely her responsibility. Before my aunt died and left us to handle everything—including her only son.

  “Thank you.” I stood, unsure as usual if I should offer her a hug or a handshake. When it seemed neither was going to happen, I started to walk away.

  “I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow? Maybe you could bring Nicolette?” she asked at my retreating back as I stopped in the foyer.

  “I’ll ask her,” I said, returning the smile she’d given me earlier.

  Just as I was about to turn back towards the door to leave, she moved forward, swiftly, like she didn’t, she might lose her nerve. She grabbed my arms in hers, giving them a slight squeeze. She stepped back quickly, releasing me with a strange look on her face.

  “I’ll see you then,” she said before pivoting abruptly to walk away.

  “Goodbye, Mother.”

  She didn’t say anything else, just disappeared around the corner.

  With a sigh, I left the house.

  Chapter 29

  Nicolette

  “You look fabulous,” my dad cooed as I approached the table for our Saturday lunch.

  I smiled, trying to shake the tiny throb in the back of my head that had returned early this morning. The headaches made no sense, coming and going several times a day for the last five days for no reason. Come Monday, I was calling the doctor.

  “Thank you, Dad. You look great, too.” It wasn’t an empty compliment. At his age, most men had beer guts and receding hairlines, but not my father. He was polished, lean, and put together.

  He gathered me into a tight hug. “I feel like I haven’t seen my girl in a long time.”

  Guilt tugged at my chest at his words, though I knew it wasn’t true. We’d had lunch just two weeks ago and we spoke on the phone virtually every day. But being an only child and knowing he didn’t have a spouse or significant other to care for him had me worried that he was lonely.

  “We talked yesterday,” I said with a slight chuckle to dispel the mood I could feel settling around me.

  I didn’t want to feel guilty about not seeing him every day. And according to Dr. Harper, I shouldn’t. She’d reminded me on several occasions that I was a grown woman with a life, and my father was a grown man. I didn’t owe him my time—I should only give it when I wanted to. I was supposed to be worrying less about everyone else.

  In true Nicolette fashion, I wasn’t being successful.

  “That’s true. I’ve been busy anyway.” He waved a hand at me as we settled into the booth of our favorite restaurant.

  I picked up the menu, covering my face to get a break from his scrutiny for a moment. My mind wandered to Henry as I tried to focus on the menu, though I already knew wh
at I would order. I would see Henry tomorrow, and no matter how much I told my stomach to calm down, it wouldn’t stop churning in anticipation.

  “Anything new with you? How’s the job going?” Dad asked as I closed the menu and set it back on the table.

  I relaxed a little, the anxiety from before seeping away. “It’s great actually. I love the hustle and bustle of the fashion industry. Everyone has been so great to me. It feels like this was what I was meant to do all along.”

  “That’s wonderful, darling,” Dad said as the waitress approached.

  Once she walked away with our orders, his eyes met mine again, the same steel blue as my own. Concern lingered there, and for a moment my chest tightened with worry.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, leaning forward to take his hand.

  Dad chuckled softly. “I’m nervous because I have to tell you something.”

  “What? Are you all right? Are you sick?” The guilt that had seeped away moments before was back, hitting me like a freight train at high speed.

  Dad shook his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m sorry, Nikki, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just . . . I’m nervous to tell you that I’ve been seeing someone.”

  Relief swamped me, making my body sag against the booth, tears pricking my eyes with relief.

  “Oh my God, you scared me, Dad,” I said, wiping my eyes with my fingertips.

  Tears filled his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I should have led into it a different way.” He chuckled as he took my hand in his again.

  We sat there a moment, composing ourselves as the waitress brought our food, refilled our water glasses and disappeared again.

  “So, tell me about your new friend,” I said with interest.

  My dad never mentioned anyone he was seeing before. It felt like he was about to make a huge declaration, and I steadied myself for the news I knew he had been keeping from me all along.

  “His name is Patrick, and he’s an interior designer,” Dad said, searching my face for a reaction to the bomb he just dropped.